“The dolphin likes you,” Nate said.

Carson smiled, feeling it was true. “I hope so. I like the dolphin.”

“Does your dolphin have a name?”

“She’s not my dolphin. She’s wild . . . But I do call her Delphine.”

“Delphine,” Nate repeated. “That’s a good name.”

Carson laughed and leaned forward to hug the boy, but Nate saw her coming and immediately stiffened. Remembering Dora’s warning, Carson caught herself and pulled back.

Nate didn’t appear to notice her dilemma. He was engrossed with searching for Delphine, who had submerged and disappeared into the depths.

“Where did she go?”

Carson raised her hand over her eyes like a visor and searched the still water. A few minutes later she spotted Delphine far across the cove. “There she is,” she said to Nate, pointing. “Straight across. Wait, she dove again.” She saw Nate on his tiptoes, squinting. They watched as Delphine arched over the water, catching breaths, swimming farther away. After a few minutes, Carson couldn’t spot her any longer. “She’s gone. But don’t worry. She’ll be back.”

“But I want to see her now.”

Carson didn’t have much experience with children and demanding ones hit a nerve. “Well, kiddo, you can’t. She’s a wild animal. She comes and goes when she pleases. Speaking of which, it’s time for us to go. Come on.” She gave him a gentle nudge, then began to walk off. A small hand gently tapped her arm. She turned to see Nate chewing his lip and looking out at the water.

“Can I see the dolphin again?”

She saw his eyes—as eager as the dolphin’s—and empathized with his need to make contact with whatever it was the dolphin possessed that drew them both in like magic.

“Sure,” she replied with a smile. “If she comes back. And I think she will. Maybe later today we can come back here together. Bring your life vest, and we’ll go for a swim. You do know how to swim, don’t you?”

Nate nodded. Then he smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a dark cloud.

Later that morning the smell of bacon was wafting from the kitchen. Carson followed the scent, her stomach growling. The kitchen was empty but she saw a plate of crisp bacon and some of Lucille’s biscuits laid out under a glass bowl. She was reaching for them when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning her head, she saw Harper. Her face was pale and her eyes glassy, but she’d made the effort. Her hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail and she was neatly dressed in slim madras Bermuda shorts, a white polo shirt, and clean white tennis shoes. Carson looked down at her own green T-shirt over torn denim shorts and thought Harper looked better outfitted for Nantucket than for Sullivan’s Island.

“Good morning,” Carson said. “Going sailing?”

Harper shook her head dully, missing the joke entirely.

“Want some bacon?” Carson asked, taking a big, greasy, exaggerated bite.

Harper visibly paled. “Ugh. Don’t mention food. Is there coffee left?”

“I’ll get you a cup,” Carson said, piling bacon onto her plate now that she knew she didn’t have to share with Harper. She reached to open the cabinet and pulled out a large mug that bore the faded insignia of the Gamecocks. “A little too much tequila last night?”

Harper shushed her, looking from left to right. “Keep it down. I don’t want Mamaw or Lucille to find out.” She took a slow sip of coffee. “I have no idea how much I drank. Someone was always putting a drink in front of me. It was bottomless . . .” She took a sip of coffee, then walked to the cabinet and prowled for a glass. Finding one, she filled it with water; then from her pocket, she retrieved two aspirin. “The breakfast of champions,” she muttered, and swallowed them down with a shudder.

Carson laughed lightly, with more sympathy. “Sorry, sis. Didn’t mean for you to get hungover. I should’ve watched over you better. You’re a tiny thing.” She couldn’t help but snicker. “A lightweight.”

“I don’t need you to watch over me, thank you very much. I can usually hold my own,” Harper said. “It’s just that it was a crazy day and I didn’t eat much.” She swallowed more water. “Let me guess. You can hold your liquor like a champ.”

Carson grinned and slid a long piece of bacon into her mouth. “I feel right as rain.”

“Great.”

“While you were snoring away, I went to town and got us some fishing poles and lures. Sister mine, put on your sunscreen, ’cause we’re going fishing today.”

Harper slanted a glance at her from under half-closed lids. “You’ve got to be kidding. Worms? Fish? Me? Not a chance.”

Nate came into the room, followed by Dora. Carson felt a twinge of affection when she saw his blue eyes spark at seeing her.

“Hey, squirt,” Carson said to him. “Want to go fishing?” she asked.

“Fishing?” asked Dora with surprise. “I don’t remember anyone saying that was part of today’s agenda.”

“I wasn’t aware that there was an agenda,” Carson replied. As the eldest, Dora always assumed she was the one who should organize family events. And she had a naturally bossy nature.

“But of course there is,” Dora said. “We have cocktails on the porch at five, for which we are all supposed to be in our dinner best so we can have our photograph taken,” she added.

“Photograph? Oh, what a nice idea. I’ll get my cameras ready.”

“You’re not taking the photo,” Dora said. “Mamaw hired a photographer.”

Carson took offense. “Why would she hire someone? I’m a professional photographer. Tell her to cancel.”

“She wants you in the photograph, not behind the camera,” Dora explained.

“Hasn’t she ever heard of a timer? Where is she? I’ll talk to her.”

Harper spoke up. “Let it go,” she told Carson. “Mamaw’s made her arrangements. I’m sure she was thinking of you.”

“Harper’s right. Mamaw is having dinner catered so Lucille can relax and join us, too. She’s gone to a great deal of trouble planning everything.” She delivered a meaningful glance to Carson. “But no one said anything about fishing.”